Pale Hands
by Hemlock
Summary: You forget the Past, but the past never forgets you. A continuation from Past, Tense Past.
1. Et rien ne demeurera impuni

### **Part One  
**

###   


_Et rien ne demeurera impuni*  
_

  
  


The rosary beads passed his fingers restlessly as he walked down the church aisle. It was a quiet small church, with a small spire and a dove-white paint that had seen better days.

The cross glowed softly before him, lit by shy candles whose lights danced now and then as sudden gush of air entered the church. That made him look around nervously. When he was sure he was quite alone he sat down on one of those chairs.

He was on the third mystery when a deep voice interrupted him. "Nice setting for meeting an old enemy, friend."

He was startled by the voice that he unconsciously almost tore his rosary beads apart. "You! What do you want with me?"

"We had an agreement, didn't we, Jack?" said the man whose face was covered by the hat he wore. But his height was evident. He towered over the older man.

"Don't call me by that name. I'm not your servant anymore."

"Ah… but that was long ago, isn't it, Jack?" The voice was an audible sneer. "You see, London 1888 was so long ago, that I cannot remember what we did there. Care to refresh me?"

"I am not your servant! Not anymore. I don't work for anyone anymore. Especially you."

"But don't you want to know what I know? That's why I contacted you in the first place."

"I learnt from the past. My first contact with you had been nothing but an ultimate curse on my entire existence."

"Curse, my dear Jack? I thought immortality was everything you wanted. Now you begin to have second thoughts?"

"But never like this!"

"Ah… I never said this condition of yours had no payment. Nothing's free, remember?"

"Devil!"

The tall man laughed gleefully, almost mockingly. It reverberated in the church eerily. "I've been called worse, Jack. Believe me."

The older man looked around nervously before he pulled the taller man's collar. "What do you want? Why have you called me?"

"I have need of you, Jack. For some minor works. _Very_ minor."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "I refuse to be associated with any of your works. No matter how minor or major." His hold on the taller man's collar tightened. For someone so old the strength seemed incredible.

But the taller man merely laughed. "Who says anything about your compliance?"

For one moment the older man didn't understand the extent of his words. Then his eyes widened. He quickly released the taller man's collar and ran out of the church. His laughter followed him outside.

Outside the older man looked nervously left and right, and then dashed into an alley that he knew would be an exit to a busier street. As he was about to reach the end, however someone grabbed him by the back of his neck and stopped him. What he saw he could never tell because seconds later his neck was snapped into two, the sound like a fragile twig being stepped upon.

Two minutes later the older man stepped outside, lighting a cigar and breathed it in deeply as he reached down his pockets. His hands came out with two quarters. Nodding slightly he headed towards a phone booth, massaging the back of his neck now and then. Looking for the telephone guide book he thumbed the dog-eared pages until he came to the letter X. A moment later he picked up the receiver and started dialing.  
  


  
  


Emma Frost was on the phone the moment it rang. "Oh, Hank, please wait for a moment. There's an incoming call."

"What? Who could that be in such an ungodly hour?" Hank glanced at his table clock; it said 11:59 pm.

"I don't know. You scientists have so many hours to spare on small things like a specimen or something, but never a day to spare with the living. I bet if those things could talk they'd say please go away please go away."

"All right Emma. I'm on my way upstairs anyway."

"Good for you." Then she pressed a few buttons to receive the incoming call. "Who is this?"

The voice at the other end of the line was talking perfect English, if not peppered with a bit accent Emma thought somewhere from the Europe. "Is this the School for Gifted Youngsters?"

"Yes sir. Although I should say this is rather an ungodly hour for you to call in. Can you call again - "

"I need to speak with one of your students. Remy LeBeau?"

"Who is this?"

A pause. "His friend, Harry."

Hesitantly she said, "Please wait. I'll connect you to his room."  
  
  


Remy was playing bridge with Piotr, Jubilee and Rogue in his room when the phone rang. "Could be Hank again," Rogue said. As she was the nearest to the phone she lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Remy?" said the person at the other end.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Remy? Someone wants to talk to you."

Remy's left eyebrow lifted up. "Who is it?"

"I dunno. Some guy." She handed over the phone to him as the rest prepared for another round of bridge.

"Remy's speaking."

"_I found you_." It was no more than a whisper, but pregnant with hatred and evil that Remy found his knees began to buckle.

"Who is dis?" he asked, trying to steady his voice.

Suddenly the voice shifted into another accent that was familiar to Remy. "I found you. Now you must find me before I find you again."

"Non… it cannot be…"

The voice over laughed softly, mockingly. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? But it's me. And if you can't find me, Remy, I'll find you next. Because, _et rien ne demeurera impuni_."

As he laughed Remy slammed down the receiver. The three turned to him. "What's the matter, honey?" Rogue asked, then she noticed Remy's face was pale and his lips were close to bloodless. "Remy?"

"_Tovarisch_, you look like you've just seen a ghost," Piotr remarked as he patted him on the shoulder. "You all right?"

"_Non_, Gambit's not all right…" was all he could say.

_It cannot be_, he thought._ He's dead! He's dead!_

_Dead!_

##### *_French: Nothing unavenged remains_

To Be Continued...


	2. Confutatis maledictis

### Part Two

  
  
  


#### _Confutatis maledictis*_

  
  
  


He was barely aware that Rogue was holding his shoulders. "Gambit, what's the matter?" Instead of answering he pushed her aside and bolted out of the room. Piotr was quick to catch her, avoiding her falling onto their makeshift snack table. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Rogue whimpered as Piotr released her slowly. "But I don't like that look he had in that red eyes of his."

Jubilee was silent. She noticed the way Gambit had watched her for a split second before he ran out of the room. She didn't like it either.  
  
  
  


Gambit ran into the hall and out of the door. Outside the grass was wet from the midnight dew and the air was cold; the winter remnants still clung to the air. He glanced around wildly and through the main gate as if looking for something. Or someone.

"Where _are_ you!? Where **are** you, dammit!!" shouted Gambit. The sighing breeze answered him and nothing else.

"You're dead! **Dead**! Die and never return!" His knees buckled, he fell onto the wet grass knees first and began to punch madly at the grassy ground. "**DIE**!"

"There he is," Rogue said as she ran out of the door towards Gambit. "Gambit! Can you hear me?" Behind her Piotr and Jean walked out.

He kept on punching the ground madly, occasionally hitting his head. "Gambit, honey, what's wrong?"

Suddenly Gambit froze, his fists clenched tightly, the tendons on his neck strained tightly that Rogue could see the tension under the poor light. Small stifled sounds escaped his lips, almost inaudible if not for Rogue's close proximity. He let out a long pained sigh before he collapsed. Rogue shouted his name aloud as she caught hold of him.

"Somebody get the doctor! I think he's epileptic!"  
  
  
  


"Hey mister, move it."

Half a mile away, at some forgotten side of Westchester near the small church, two punks closed in to an old man who had his arms akimbo. "Yeah," said the second. "Move on. This here's our territory."

As the old man turned, both felt a brief stab of fear. A strange smell wafted from him, much like a rotting carcass. The old man grinned at them, not amiably but a cross between something obscene and frightening. The first punk poked the second in the ribs; he slowly stuttered out a threat. "You gotta move, old man." Adding to the effect he showed a slender penknife. The second smiled and confidence started to show on his face.

"My dear children," said the old man with an alarmingly cold voice they both would have sworn they heard it cracked somewhere. "You wouldn't try to mug an old man, would you?"

"Heh. Anyone who passes this spot gotta pay, you haggard piece of meat." He flipped the penknife skillfully. The other took out a long plank that had nails sticking out at the other end and started to swing it dangerously. "Some way or the other."

"Do you know that it's bad manners to talk like that to your elders?" the old man asked them calmly.

Haughtily the first punk replied. "Tell that to my dead elders, grave-bait!"

A sudden change in the old man's expression made both of the punks wished they never crossed him. "Don't worry. I'll send you both to meet them. _Personally_."

A moment later the nuns inside the small church who were on their nightly vigil heard some unearthly screams. It seemed so close that they hastened to finish their prayers earlier than usual. For the past week the neighborhood had became rather dangerous.  
  
  
  


It was morning when Gambit finally woke up. Immediately his head began to ring. He had to sit still for a minute or two before it slowly went away. Moaning loudly he tried to stand up, but his feet wouldn't comply. His painful moan reached Hank's ears who was reciting 'Macbeth' to himself to while away the time. In a second he was beside Gambit who moaned continually.

"How's the Cajun? Better?" Hank asked as he helped Gambit to stand.

"Uh… if you t'ink ringing heads are a good sign den Gambit is damned fine." He held his left temple; seemed to him that the pain was coming from that area. "What happened?"

"I should have guessed you didn't remember. That bump on the head looks pretty serious to me. I'll tell you the abridged version. You played bridge with Rogue, Piotr and Jubilee then someone called. Next thing we knew you ran out and started to imitate an angry bull. Then you suddenly went all frozen that we thought you got epilepsy."

"Gambit never had one," he said, groaning.

"Well, so we thought. Fortunately you stabilized when we got you here and stable you have been until now." Hank sat him down on a comfortable chair, got him a mug of hot coffee and pushed towards him a plateful of cookies. "I'm going to call on Rogue. She wanted to sit here but I asked her not to."

Gambit nodded gratefully as he sipped from the mug. When he saw Hank reached for the phone and started punching the buttons everything flooded back into his head like opened floodgates. He had to let the mug down and gripped the sides of the chair to restrain himself from the pain. Eyes closed now, he began to recall what actually had made him 'frozen', as Hank had called it.

_Tired travelers and candles all alight  
Spray on the white walls with red to my delight  
Tonight you see me tomorrow no more I._

Like insistent nursery rhyme the words played in his head over and over again. Gambit tried to stop the ricocheting terror and finally did as he slowly opened his eyes.

It was like opening a manhole with an elephant sitting over it. What he saw when he opened his eyes was the worried face of Hank, Rogue and the not-so-concerned Logan. "Hell, I should like to see that again," he remarked insensitively. Rogue's gloved hand found its mark on his earlobe and pulled it.

When the angry growls from Logan was over attention returned to Gambit. "Gambit, what's the matter? You had us spooked out."

Tiredly he asked, "What happened?"

"You didn't know? You sat there, writhing with pain like someone gave you electrocution. Then you started to bang your head on the table - good for you Hank moved it before you did further damage to yourself."

"Don't know," was all he could say. "Can someone give me some paper and pen?"

Hank quickly supplied them and Gambit started to jot down the words he heard just now. "Tell me what you t'ink about dat," he said to Hank when he was done. Hank studied the paper closely and stared at Gambit suspiciously when he was done.

"You're sure you didn't lose any bearings when you banged your head out there?"  
  
  
  
  


"You say this was a message?"

Xavier stared at Gambit. He scanned his mind earlier, and he came up with nothing suspicious, like brain damage or something attributed to temporary insanity. "Yes," he replied firmly.

"From who?"

"Louis du Boudreault," said Jubilee as she stepped into the hall calmly.

  
  
  
  


*when the wicked are confounded

_To be continued..._


	3. Blood on the Wall

### Part 3

  
  


#### _Blood on the Wall_

  
  
  
  


All heads turned to her. She didn't look at them but fixed her stare at Gambit who was by now biting his lips to the extent of close to drawing blood.

A long silence followed that if a pin dropped it would echo throughout the mansion. "Kiddo. Reality check. Louis _died_. His head got _ blown_ off. _ I_ won't be alive if that were me," Logan said.

"I know. I saw it," she replied, still staring at Gambit. "I was there, too."

"Then why this boisterous theory, Jubilee?" Hank said. "We all were certain he's dead."

"Ask Gambit," she said simply. "He knows better than I do. I know because he looked at me last night. The way he looked at me - it was the same look he had given me when I wanted to tell all of you about Louis the first time around."

By now Gambit was gripping the sides of his seat. He turned from Jubilee's stares to the muted television, which had news on, unable to fight her accusing stares.

"Now I don't want to see him repeat that mistake. It's better for me to tell all of you before he decides the opposite. The last time I didn't, it cost two lives." Jubilee looked away for a moment and coughed nervously. "Gambit, please tell them what you know. This time let us all help you."

But Gambit wasn't paying attention. The muted television presented something else. "Someone please turn up the TV," he said suddenly.

"Gambit we're trying to talk to you now, how can you think of TV at times like this - "

"Turn up dat DAMNED TV!"

Kurt threw the remote to him; it hit him in the ribs but Gambit didn't care. He turned the volume and braced himself.

"… in the vicinity of western Westchester, near the St Christopher Chapel early this morning two bodies were found in what the coroner had described as _melted_. No further information were released, however the authorities were thinking that it could have very well been a gang fight, although the question of how the bodies became to be in their present state is still in the air…"

Gambit's eyes traveled to the background. Nuns lining just outside of the gated church, curious. Some however had ventured outside and continually crossed themselves as they scrutinized the gate wall.

The once all-pristine whiteness was marred by a splash of blood, long since it had dried.

"Goodness, how did those people die? Look at the blood," Jean remarked.

"It seems more like spurted than splashed upon," the scientist in Hank said. He leant closer. "Did someone record this?"

Gambit nodded. It had been a premonition for him to press the 'RECORD' button. Slowly he said, "It's him. Louis du Boudreault."

All eyes went to him. "Explain." Xavier was staring at him. It was a demand not to be denied.

He took out the paper he had presented to Hank earlier and gave it Xavier. "It is him. You'll know if you read dat carefully, professor."

Xavier took the words in with careful consideration while Jean asked Gambit, "Why are you sure this is Louis? Didn't you kill him? Didn't we all see him die?"

"Gambit know friends and enemies, and Gambit remember dem."

Emma paled. "Was - was the person calling last night - "

"_Oui_, m'mselle Frost."

"_Tired travelers and candles all alight_… St Christopher, the patron saint of travelers… _candles_… church. _Spray on the white walls with red to my delight_…," Xavier's eyes went briefly to the TV screen and returned his attention to the paper again. "_Tonight you see me tomorrow no more I_… he's no longer there today. Very sneaky." Xavier remarked as he stared at the sentences. "He sent you these?"

"Right after he called Gambit." Gambit held his left temple; it throbbed duly. "Gambit don't know how, but it hurts a lot. Gambit know no other person knew the motto for _L'Enfants en Terriblè*_ underground access." He ran a nervous hand across his voluminous hair. "An' both are dead."

"That person could be an impostor," Elisabeth said who had been watching silently the entire conversation.

"_Non, non_… that is not acceptable," Gambit said as he resumed his attention back to the television. "Even the best impostor couldn't fake dat anger and hate." He shuddered. "'Sides, old French is rare. _Et rien ne demeurera impuni_."

Hank rose his blue eyebrows. "That is old. Reminds me of something…" Hank closed his eyes and just as quick re-opened them. "_Nil insultum remanebit_… nothing unavenged remains." He groaned. "Oh boy. Here we go again."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, his pupil-less eyes blinking questioningly.

"The last time Gambit consulted me about this same thing." He faced Gambit. "It seems your friend, if he is indeed still alive, has - or had, whichever way you like - a deep interest in these passages of mass for the dead."

Gambit nodded slowly. "Gambit asked you that time 'cause Gambit wondered whe'er any other hidden message in dem. Gambit knew."

"So, the last question. How in the hell did this turd crawl up from his stinkin' gravehole?" Logan asked. "For Pete's sake, his head got blown off!"

"Sometimes, Logan," Piotr said, glaring at him at the moment Logan swore by his name, "anger could even bypass the boundary of life and death."

"So, you're suggesting we have a zombie that killed two people and sent 'Zombie has been here' messages to Gumbo?"

Xavier stared at the sentences carefully, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. "Probably more, Logan, everyone." He looked at them, and then at Gambit; he was biting his nails nervously. "Probably more."

The rest of the day was spent in waiting. Gambit was the worst; now and then he'd stare at the main gate through the open door he'd ordered no one to close. As if expecting someone to appear, or more likely from his current condition, not to appear.

"I don't know how long will he sit there and stare at the gate," Rogue remarked to Logan who busied himself with a newspaper. "I mean, come on. For goodness' sake we all saw du Boudreault's head went to smithereens!"

"Told them, but no one listened." Logan flipped another page disinterestedly. "Probably that Cajun's got all shook up from that thing with good ol' Mel." He shook his head. "I still miss her."

Rogue nodded. Melinda had been a cook in the institute for over five years and only after the shocking tragedy that took her life did everyone knew she had been Remy's mother whom everyone thought had died. "I would be, too, if I learnt the same thing too late," she sighed. "But I still don't get this thing. What could possibly made Remy jump into such… such extreme conclusions?"

Logan snorted irritatedly. "Goddammit, Rogue. Go somewhere else with that chatterbox of yours! I'm trying to read here!"

Rogue eyed him strangely if not curiously. "You read a newspaper?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. "As long as I can remember you're allergic to the _ sight_ of it."

Uncomfortably he shifted in his seat; Rogue was right. He never read a newspaper in his life. Now he sat here and browse through classifieds and sports, browsing but not really taking in whatever that passed his sight. Suddenly he stopped flipping through the pages.

Rogue meanwhile was about to exit the hall when Logan swore softly under his breath. "Holy Mary Mother of God - "

Almost at the uncannily exact time Remy rose from his seat and walked slowly outside. For a split second Rogue was torn between her curiosity of Logan's discovery and Remy's strange act, but her concern for Remy outweighed the curiosity. She followed him outside.

Outside, the clouds had started to darken and the sun was disappearing at the west, coloring the skies with bloody red and orange streaks. She could hear the wind moaning almost mournfully as it passed them - or were they voices? She couldn't tell - and watched as Remy stood fixed on the ground, staring at the gate that was closed shut.

Inside she heard Logan raising hell with whatever he had found in the newspaper.

Closer she moved towards Remy until she was close enough to hear his heavy breathing, labored and shaky. Although the atmosphere was pleasantly warm for a spring evening, she suddenly felt a blanket of freezing air covered the whole yard. It made her shiver.

"Remy?" she asked as she touched his right shoulder. "Let's get inside."

She could only see the back of his head as it shook in negation, but if she saw his face she'd be afraid for his life. "No. You go back inside," he said, his voice unnaturally cold.

"Remy… I know something's wrong." Her voice now was a mere fearful whisper. "I think I know something's entirely wrong. But this time, no one's gonna let you face this alone. We're all behind you. Now come inside." She tugged at his sleeves, motioning for him to move but he stood steadfastly still.

Strangely, too, Rogue began to cease all movements although the better part of her brain literally screamed for her whole being to move. She felt the coldness reached deep into her bones and fancied she could feel it began to _ chew_ on her.

A clear voice that seemed to cut through the cold air reached them. "Remy! Rogue! Get inside this instant!"

Shaken, the cold seemed to suddenly lift up from around them, and only then did Rogue started to move and tug at Remy's collar despite of his protests. As both Remy and she raced to the mansion she could almost feel the same cold sensation enveloped their atmosphere again, and the mere thought of it shook Rogue's being to its core.

Stepping inside the mansion, as she closed the door was both the hardest and most wonderful feeling Rogue felt. Turning to Remy she found him still facing the gate although the solid oak door had completely obscured his view. Suddenly he gave out a long high-pitched whimper as he collapsed onto the floor.

"REMY!"

Jubilee made a buzzing noise with her drink. It echoed in the pristine interior of Hank's personal underground lab.

Ray Quinton and him were watching the recorded news again and again. "As far as I can tell there's nothing funny about the whole picture, Hank," Ray said as he paused the scene where the bloodied wall came into view. "Looks A-OK to me."

Hank leant closer. "Still I seem to displace my thoughts on the oddity of that blood on the wall. Something's terribly wrong, but I can't seem to put my finger on it."

"Maybe it's because those nuns," Ray pointed out.

Hank eyed him strangely. "What about those nuns?" he asked pointedly.

Ray heard the tone in Hank's query and he raised a scandalous eyebrow. "Nothing of the sort you might be getting in that brain of yours, Hank. I mean nuns and blood don't generally mix. Nuns are supposed to lead a quiet, peaceful life while crime scenes are far from these holy servants of God should even come close to."

Hank returned to the paused scene. "Mmmm. That's a thought."

"Have any of you think of the ad Logan found late this evening?" Jubilee suddenly asked after all of her methods of distracting the men had failed miserably. If you can't beat them, join them, said the old adage. "Came up with anything yet?"

Ray raised a hand and shook it in negation. Hank stood up and shambled towards a table and went through a wad of papers until he stopped at a certain one and lifted it up against the fluorescent lamp. He fixed the reading glasses he had on as he said, "I wonder where did he find the time to even contribute this ad. When do you suppose the final hour for ad submission?"

"I'd say before evening," Jubilee vaguely suggested. "They have to print the newspapers by night, right? That way the ad will come directly on the next morning newspapers."

"We'll go to The Westchester Daily tomorrow. In the mean time, let's get acquainted with this very puzzling piece of poetry our supposedly dead friend has sent us."

"Will you stop with that attitude already?!" Jubilee suddenly exploded, much to the surprise of Hank and Ray. "Will no one believe Remy except for me? What I see in his eyes when he woke up just now is nothing but hatred and fear. Fear for du Boudreault and for us. His fear is real enough I could describe to you how it tastes exactly down to a sliver. I know this threat is real enough because the way he looks at me each time our eyes meet. It's like back in the time when I first came upon him and he told me what was threatening him. And look at you. Look at your attitude!

"Don't you even care to think why did he act so strange nowadays? No Hank, don't give me any psychological jargons on his condition; I've had enough of tittle-tattle in my head to last a lifetime and I don't need more. He is facing a threat so horrible he could not even dare himself to tell us. He knows something we shouldn't, yet here you shake it off like some mote of dust. That's been your attitude towards him for as long as I lived here. You take everything from him a little bit too lightly."

Satisfied, but not triumphant, she watched their surprised looks and prepared herself to walk out when Hank's voice called out to her.

"Do you suppose we all think like that, Jubilee?"

She stopped and replied, "From what I can see, yes, all of you think alike."

"Yes, it's rather clear, isn't it?" he said, much to Jubilee's surprise. "But we can't help it. _ I_ can't help it. Throw in the fact that Louis du Boudreault is dead, plus Remy's recent probable psychological trauma, this all could have been induced by nothing more than his," - here Hank paused for a less offensive word - "_fancies_."

Jubilee's eyes narrowed. "_What_?" It was more like a hiss.

"Post-psychological trauma. He could have suffered it and could have been unconscious of it. But now it's taking - "

Jubilee's narrowed eyes shot first to Ray and then Hank, and later back to Ray like some silencer. Both had stopped talking. "I never think you guys could be so dense. _Fancies_? How can you explain the ad?"

"Remy could have placed it himself without ever remembering doing so," Hank said rather unwillingly.

"Oh, my. Now what? A double personality complex? Come on, Hank!" Exasperated she rose her hands in contempt. "You can do better than that," she sneered.

"It is a possibility," Ray endorsed Hank's opinion, fueling her anger. "In fact there is a case - "

Jubilee was already outside of the lab and banged the metallic door noisily as she went out. Ray stared silently as he transferred his eyes onto Hank. Hank shook his head.

"I should have insisted on the paneled wooden door." He sighed. Then he returned his attention to the newspaper cutting of an ad Logan had found earlier that evening. On it were written:

_ladybug's a nifty insect  
she likes to come at noon  
rainmaker's prefer white  
so come with a long spoon._

Under it was the name they all knew whose owner's head was blown to pieces before their very eyes.

"What I'm really intrigued of is the fact that Remy has been cleared sane by the Professor himself. He could find no faults in his head this morning he had examined Remy; Remy even begged him to perform the test. I begin to think that Jubilee is quite right. Remy is in contact with this dead man… somehow." Ray scratched his head as he turned off the television and getting ready for bed.

"If that is so," Hank said gravely as he replaced the ad inside one of his folders, then placing it in his drawers before locking it, "then we better start praying for deliverance from evil."

Somehow the last sentence got stuck in Hank's head and he could never quite get it off from his head.

Not until the next morning.

_To be continued..._


	4. Intermission in a form of colloquy

**Part Four**

**Intermission in a form of colloquy***

_*__Author's Note:__ This takes place in the mind. A colloquy is a written form of discussion. Inspired by Stanley Kubrick's _2001: A Space Odyssey_ . One thing about that movie: weeeeeird. Oh, and as for the fonts, different types are for different voice/mind._

_What is it that you wanted, Louis? What is it that you wanted with me? Us?_

I merely need you assistance.

_Then why the need keeping us here? Why do you stifle our own being? We need our wholeness back._

You don't understand. None of you will.

_We can't understand unless you let us do so. What we all feel from you is hatred and it blocks everything what we need to know._

I don't need your agreement or consent. You are in me and I have authority over what I want to do with you poor little souls.

_In order for us to work together, to synchronize perfectly, like a clockwork, an automaton, it is essential we know what do you feel, what are your goals, what are your fears and worries._

I know what I want, little souls. I don't have need of your little co-operation.

_We are a part of you, yes, we agree. But think. What will happen when we refuse to co-operate? What if we have the will to stop everything? What if - (GWWAAACK-!)_

Stop.

You see how easy it is for me to simply willed you cease to exist? You are nothing but strands of threads hanging in the edge of existence. I can merely brush you aside and you all will fall into that darkness that all human have feared from the moment they came to know darkness and death.

It's nothing, really. We all need each other. I need you. You all need me. There is no point in pursuing this matter any longer.

_Louis_

(?!)

_Louis, please listen_

(!)

_Louis listen to me please stop this there is no point in chasing the past_

!?

_stop this Louis my love I cannot stand this any longer the stifling, the crying, the murders, the undead souls what we have done cannot be undone anymore_

WITCH! You shall stop addressing to me!! Begone! Stay in your pits where you deserve it!

_Then why have you brought me here_

Because I hated you. Because I loved you so much it is now one with my hatred to you. My hate is renewed as well as my whole body. It tripled, trebled

_release me, Louis I suffer so_

That's my intention, you insufferable fool! How do you like a place much less comfortable than Hell? How do you feel about my own pits that I have so lovingly and hatefully set up for you?

_please Louis release me_

Stay, my love, stay. I cannot bear you far away from me, which is why I keep you close to me, in your own Hell

_Louis no_

Shhh everything will be all right, my love, my hate just sleep

_Lou_

Shhh shhh.

**(Louis)**

!

**Louis are you listening?**

Yes, my lord.

**It is done. You will carry out everything according to plan. No more lavish entrance, no double entendres, just my plan.**

Yes, my lord. It is as you say. I cannot resist, though, a small touch of mind puzzle.

**I HAVE TOLD YOU PRECISELY NOT TO DO THAT!!**

But my lord, it is all for the better. Look at how miserable the little Cajun is. Look how his friends are discussing this whole thing, thinking that he is somewhat a little off the road. Look at what this small things can do.

**Hmmm. Probably there's no harm into that. Do that, but do not overdo it. Your tendency towards grandeur is one of the source of your recent fall. I cannot help you anymore once you fall again for the second time. That is forever and no more.**

I will keep that in mind, my lord. I will do it with the utmost care.

**One more thing. Why do you ask me to gain this woman back? She was too far even for my methods to call her back.**

But she is here, my lord, and fine sort of. Why does that worries you so? I think I hear a worried tone in your voice.

**It's just that for people like her it's sometimes dangerous. They can be too unstable and too hard to control.**

Everything's all right my lord. There is no need to worry. I have hold on each and every bit of them.

**Make sure you always do. Once you are apart, nothing will be able to keep you together.**

I will be very wary of that, my lord.

**My Detritus Nether, this time, do your Creator, your Resurrector, proud. Prove yourself to him you deserve this costly resurrection.**

I, Detritus Nether, will prove myself worthy of this cause, my lord. And I will gain my revenge on the dirty little Cajun as a reward. That itself is a reward far more wonderful for me than the riches of the world.

**That is so. Now rest. Let the souls rest with you.**

Yes, my lord. For tomorrow is an important day.

_To be continued..._


	5. Fever And Consequences

**Part Five**   
  
  
**Fever and Consequences**   
  


Waking up to a warm body might be a pleasant if not an erotic thought. But a person might be having second thoughts when his or her own body is unusually warm. Like Remy LeBeau felt when he woke up this morning. 

His awakening was no better. (He would have forgotten them all by the time he had opened his eyes, probably a vague image playing in his mind was all the remnants of the awakening. But when he was about to wake up his mind was packed with images of dark, dank places that was filled with even darker... things. Things that writhed and tangled and entangled themselves without end. Things that never seemed to have one moment of peace.) 

Now, as Remy lay breathing heavily on his bed, sweat running down his naked chest as inside he felt like burning, a dreadful sense of deja-vu slammed into his feverish brain. Something had indeed woke him up, but he had forgotten it all. 

How he hated that feeling. How he despised that since Melinda died. That crippling sense of forgetfulness never quite disappear, but it merely lingered in some hidden folds of his brain, awaiting a certain command to whir back to its full horrific extent. 

It was morning, the blessed sun shone through the shuttered windows and the mansion was slowly kindled to life with voices. Remy wondered how long would that serve to maintain his sanity after last night. 

Then Remy realized something else. He couldn't recall what happened last night. As he slowly stood up from his bed and started to walk around, he scratched his head repeatedly trying to recall what actually had happened last night. Sitting down in front of a dressing table, he looked up slowly to his own image. What he saw in the mirror made him feel no better about himself. 

It made him shiver that he almost didn't recognize the face that as staring back at him. 

Ten minutes later, having fully restoring his confidence to a somewhat presentable level, Remy LeBeau took a warm bath - which made his fever no better - dressed up in T-shit and jeans, thrust a bandana down his pocket and went down to have breakfast. It was already ten, so he doubted Jim, the new cook, had anything else other than toasts and coffee. Which he'd gratefully accept, hoping that any sort of food would do wonders to his extremely tired (_de understatement of de year_, he thought bitterly) mind. 

But what waited for him in the dining room was no sight for sore eyes. The moment he entered the dining room and saluted them "Bonjour, mes amis" , Remy felt eyes staring at him like he had committed some sort of grievous crime. Even Jim seemed to be ill at ease as he placed Remy's breakfast before him and went off into the kitchen without a word. On normal days , he'd talk like tomorrow was the end of the world. 

Silence shrouded the sunlit room for the next ten minutes or so as Remy tried to concentrate on eating the delicious oatmeal porridge that was Jim's specialty. 

When Remy looked up from his bowl and smiled at Hank, Hank wondered if Medusa could have done better than that. Rogue sighed inwardly, wondering what the seven hell's happened to her honeybuns. To her Remy seemed to age ten years overnight. Black rings were evident under his eyes and when he smiled just now it was too staggering; not in terms of seductive, but the pain and the fear hidden behind in. 

Rogue turned to Jubilee whose eyes had become as cold as blue steel. To her, Jubilee's eyes went through Remy, searching with medical precision something she herself was probably unsure of. Ray was probably the most agitated of them all. Now and then he'd play with his teaspoon. At one moment he got up and wanted to get out of the room - the tension in the room was just too much for his wave-absorbing ability to handle - but Logan, who sat near him held out a threatening fist. 

Ray resumed his seat and was silent. 

Logan eyed Hank and Remy noticed this from under his lashes but didn't suspect anything at first. Hank slowly relented to Logan's scowl and after sipping his hot chocolate twice he waggled a finger at Remy to gain his attention. 

"_Oui, mon ami_?" Remy asked, his eyes embers of delight in hope for a normal conversation. But the moment he did he slowly realized this was not going to be a normal conversation and silently cursed the day he was ever born. That thought made him ache deeply for Melinda. 

Hank knew that look but steeled himself for any forthcoming unwanted scenes. He paused, trying to look for suitable phrases but as scientists are trained, Hank finally resorted to hard cold facts. "Professor has contacted The Westchester Daily this morning concerning the ad Logan came across yesterday." 

Remy tried not to listen as he warily ate his oatmeal. 

"After various stages of ascertaining this whole matter, we have finally come to a conclusion that the person who sent this ad is definitely _you_." 

The oatmeal he ate turned into grainy sand in his throat. Remy calmly swallowed it and added black coffee to the whole thing. The heat seared in his throat but he merely looked through the wall with unseeing eyes. Now and then he blinked, as if oblivious of everything Hank had just said. 

No one moved except for Jubilee who slowly got up and walked out of the room silently. Ray followed her with the tails of his eyes as she disappeared from sight and wondered why the hell did she look so empty this morning. Hank's voice pulled him back to the present. 

"We have definite proof, Remy. This morning they sent us a facsimile of the original ad - hand written and submitted by a boy, so there was no chance they could have discovered the true identity of the real sender back then. The facsimile we ran a test to see any similarities of handwriting among the students here in the institute, and Cerebro returned a result of 98% of accuracy on your name." 

No one noticed it - but later Ray claimed he could have spotted it if not for the extreme tension in the room - as Remy's cup handle began to glow with the familiar reddish hue. As the room was brightly sunlit, even Logan's animal-sharp eyes were partially impaired by the brightness and missed it. Wary as not to rouse their suspicion, Remy quickly closed his eyes. 

"Remy…" 

It was Rogue. She was looking at him with pleading eyes, like a puppy would. Only those eyes were greener than the sea and deep in them he could sense her distrust of Hank's reports. 

"Did you do it?" she asked slowly. Her efforts to control her voice was too obvious. 

Eyes still closed, Remy asked in return. "Do you believe so, chérie?" 

"Tell me it isn't so," Rogue said across the table. "Tell me you don't do this." 

"Do you believe I did it?" 

"Remy - " 

"Do you think I did it?" He rose slowly from his seat, the cup still at hand. Turning his back to them he walked slowly with measured steps toward the open window. 

Rogue rose, too but she did not dare to go too close to him. After last night Remy suddenly became a stranger to her. Everything about him that was familiar to her now became something totally distant. She steadied her voice before she went on. "We know you've been a horrible time, Remy, but for the love of God will you stop dwelling in the past? It was a bad experience, Remy yes, I admit it! Everyone here loved Melinda. I know you, of all people, are the one worst affected. Why, now , you keep punishing yourself with this these tricks? If you wanted to say something, Remy, say it! Don't do it like this…" 

Silence emanated from Remy like a noxious vapor. He sipped his coffee again, careful not to touch his lips to the now blisteringly hot handle. 

"Remy! Are you listening to me - ?" Rogue asked, anger colored her voice as she leant across the table. 

Remy moved away from the window and ever so carefully set down the cup at its saucer. He placed his hands on the table, his head hung between his shoulders as the hair cascaded downward smoothly and said, "Well, what are you going to do now, _mon ami_? Arrest _moi_?" 

"We'll take you to the professor. He'll know what to do next." 

With one hand Remy brushed backward his hair. "Well, _chérie_, you're not doin' anyt'in? Not stopping dem?" 

Something caught in her breath as she spoke, "Remy, don't try using my feelings for your own good - " 

"Gambit's not using anyone' feelin's for nobody's good!" Remy suddenly shouted which left the room silent for a moment. "Gambit not even know what to feel, what to t'ink anymore! _Mes amis _t'inks Gambit's crazy! Sending stupid rhymes to myself! Gambit don't even know rhymes!" 

He looked around the room to see their reactions. Rogue was on the verge of crying. Ray was trying to look away from his glance while Logan watched him carefully from beneath his scowling eyebrows. Hank merely stared at him with a stolid gaze. 

"I'm gone," Remy said as he walked to the door's direction. "No one believes Gambit, so better for _moi_ to be alone." 

Quickly they realized Remy was telling the truth; he was going to leave them. Logan beat him to the door, already his fists were in a very threatening position. "You're not goin' anywhere, Cajun. Ye're stayin'." 

Remy lifted an amused eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Try me." 

In a flash Remy took out a few cards, fed them with his power and threw it towards Logan. While the feral man was busy avoiding them cards, Remy quickly threw another to the cup he had left sitting on the saucer. The moment both touched, they exploded, upsetting the table as the rest quickly took cover. The window shattered and Remy was gone. 

"Get him!" Logan said as he covered a bloody arm, "He's not far gone yet."   
  
  


"Remy, stop." 

Remy did stop, Jubilee's voice struck warning bells in his head. He wondered how did she manage to follow him outside. 

His thoughts must have too plain on his face as Jubilee casually if not a bit coldly replied, "I went out the moment I saw your eyes started to glow. I knew you must have something planned out that needs your power so I went out. Does that answer the question?" 

"What do you want?" Remy said, anger steeped in his voice. He slowly put his left hand in the back pocket when Jubilee was not looking and concealed it in his large hand. "Go away. Gambit need to face dis alone." 

Jubilee stepped closer. "Remy, I know it wasn't you who sent the ad. I know you won't do such a thing. No matter what you've been through you always managed to land back on your feet. It very unlike you to torture yourself with the past." 

He thought of the diversions and nightly drinks he often shared with Bobby in the local bar and thought I never torture myself in de past. I drown dem… or drowned in dem. Then quickly his thoughts returned to Jubilee who was staring at him hopefully. "Den why in de hell dey not trust Gambit?" he practically screamed. "Why in de hell dey don't understand? Why did dey t'ink Gambit do it?" 

"Because the evidence is so clear. Because they can't think of other possibilities, like the one you've told them. Because they don't think it's likely for Boudreault to return." 

Jubilee's eyes were wide and honest, he wished he could kiss her and everything will be all right again._ But dat's de movies, Cajun,_ he thought._ Dem movies always lie. No happy endings for moi_. 

For a moment Jubilee sensed a change in his eyes, then they hardened again. "_Non_, Jubilee. You're not coming along." 

"But - " 

"Jubilee,_ non_." 

As Remy moved away Jubilee managed to grasp his shirt. "Don't you even trust me, Remy? I trusted you, now you must trust me!" 

"Trust is gained, not given," he said stiffly. 

"It's not only that," she whispered as she pulled him closer. "It's not only that, Remy. I had nightmares too…" 

Her voice made him cease all pretense. It was frightened and fragile, and Remy slowly gathered her close to him. "Night… nightmares? What do you mean?" 

"He messed up my head too, Remy! Boudreault messed up my head, and now I keep getting these nightmares… people getting killed but not really dead, people tried to die but denied… it's Hell, it's worse than Hell, Remy, that place is - " 

Remy had her head in his hands and gathered her close as she began to cry onto his wide chest. He could feel the tears wetting his shirt. They remained standing for a while, wishing this could have happened in a very different light but it never did. Now it happened, each side wanted to let it go on forever. 

Logan's loud voice shocked them and Jubilee sensed tension in Remy's body and the way his arms tightened around her. "Take me with you, Remy. We started this together, we'll finish this together," Jubilee said, her face an expression of submission. 

Try as he could, he could not bear to let this once guileless girl to join his journey back into the past, where everything never seemed the way the did,… and more. "_Non, chérie._" A stern reply. 

"If you left me here, if I still had that nightmares… they'll know, Remy. They will know where you are, where are you going, because I know what will happen today, he showed me, that bastard of a man named Boudreault showed me, with bleeding hands, not from his own cuts, but yours, Remy, please, let me go with you, oh please…" 

Her last sentence faded into the darkness that she saw before she slipped into oblivion where everything was dark and comfort reigned. For a moment. 

Remy watched from the land of the living as his _petit chérie_, as he always called her, slipped down and fell into a drugged sleep. He discarded a syringe beside her and shook his head lightly. "_Non, ma petit chérie_. As much as Gambit wants you to be beside _moi_, Gambit cannot let that bastard get you. You, _ma petit_, are too valuable to replace, and so are my friends." He heard Logan's voice getting closer to the gate, and like a heaven-sent, a highway lorry appeared in the distance. "Now, I must face de past alone. Again." 

Just as the lorry passed by the main gate Logan and the hasty search party arrived there and did not notice a certain man sitting atop the container.


	6. The Long Spoon (1)

**Part Six  
  
The Long Spoon**  
  
  
  
"Manhattan, my boy?"  
  
Remy nodded as he took another long swig from the plastic bottle. The driver, Dick, was not a drinker, so he could only offer him lemon tea. "Manhattan, _mon ami_. Dis is good." He lifted the bottle appreciatively.  
  
"Rita works wonders with tea," Dick replied sheepishly and glanced at a photo of a woman slipped between the sunshades. Quite a good-looking one, Remy thought.   
  
Just as soon as the highway loomed in the distance Remy had jumped off the highway truck and had hailed another lorry. It took him a while until Dick pulled over and here they were.  
  
Thank God Dick was not one of those talkative souls. He focused more on his driving in order to keep his schedule. "Those clients will raise hell if I'm late even a minute, so I gotta beat the traffic," he told him once.  
  
Remy's mind was elsewhere. Not too far, but not too close either.  
  
  
  
"She's waking up."  
  
Hank monitored her pulse and vital signs while Logan, Ray, Xavier and Elisabeth watched silently and impatiently. Just then Jubilee's eyes fluttered open. "Uhnn... where...?"  
  
"Welcome back, kiddo," Logan said, openly relieved.  
  
"Uhnn... where's Remy?" That thought seemed to galvanize her being and she sat up violently, trying to get off the bed. "Where is he? Where is Remy?"  
  
Ray and Logan restrained her arms. "He bailed on us, Jubes. He ran away," Ray said.  
  
"No - "  
  
"Yes, Jubilee. Which makes it harder for us to determine whether he really did send that ad." Hank said. Holding up an empty syringe he shook his head. "He used this on you, my dear, to make a clean getaway. I supposed during that fight in the dining room he somehow extracted this from my pockets. I took precautions, you all see, in case he might fight back and thought this could save us some energy."  
  
Elisabeth frowned. "Hank, you should have told us. You could have given it to someone faster than you. Me, for instance."  
  
Logan shook his head, disgusted. "Doc, you coulda tell me yer plans. I'd be happy to stick that needle on that Cajun's butt. No charge needed."  
  
Xavier moved toward Jubilee who had ceased her struggles but that restless look still hung about her. "Jubilee, you went through so much. Try to get some sleep."  
  
"No," she said softly. "I'm not going to lay low on this. You all don't understand. It's not him, not Remy, but Louis! Louis did this all! Somehow he did, and this all is happening according to his plan! He calculated our moves, Professor, so that he can get to Remy all alone and - "  
  
Suddenly the ECG gave out a high-pitched beep. Hank turned to it while the rest saw Jubilee suddenly tilted her head upwards and her mouth was wide open. Painful gasps escaped her mouth as her face began to turn pale and then she collapsed back on the bed, shaking all over. Just as then blood began to flow out of her nose and ears.  
  
"Jubilee! Jubilee, are you all right?" Logan shook her as he called out to Hank, "Doc, what the hell happened?!"  
  
Xavier quickly tried to establish a psi-link to Jubilee's mind, but even as he tried to reach her mind, he sensed something else pulled him along downward... and Elisabeth's mild mind dagger managed to cut the frightening link off. Elisabeth took hold of him as he staggered on his wheelchair.  
  
"Hank, do something!" Ray shouted.  
  
"Everybody get out! Elisabeth, prepare the life support machine and the shock treatment!"  
  
"Doc, what in the seven Hells is wrong!?" Logan practically screamed.  
  
"Get out!" Hank repeated, his anger equaled the intensity in Logan's voice.  
  
"I ain't leavin' till I get answers!"  
  
"She's slipping into coma, and you're not helping!"  
  
  
  
Remy became aware of the present when he sensed something trickled out of his nose. His hand went automatically there and when it came to view it was covered with blood.  
  
"Gimme somet'in' to wipe wit'," Remy said nervously. Dick passed him some tissue papers and gingerly he wiped his nose. He waited for more, but it seemed to have stopped just as sudden it had begun.  
  
Just as then, as the buildings of Manhattan came into view, Remy sensed -- _felt_ -- someone called his name. It left a creeping cold tingling down his spine.  
  
  
  
Ten minutes later Hank walked out of his lab and angrily tossed aside his operating mask.  
  
Logan suddenly came forward and grabbed him by the collars. "I don't like that, doc. Tell me somethin' I like to hear."  
  
"I can do nothing, okay?! I don't even know what happened!" Hank angrily barked back. "I tried everything, Logan, and none seemed to do much help! What do you want me to do now, lie to you?"  
  
Xavier's voice was a calming respite in the heated underground chamber. "What happened, Hank? What do you mean you don't understand what happened?"  
  
Logan released Hank's collars with an angry stare and retreated to the shadowed corner. Hank watched him warily as he said, "It seems Jubilee had a sudden spell of arrhythmia." Gazes of disbelief bounced back to Hank and he nodded. "I know that sounds unlikely, but I made sure of it and the symptoms were similar to that of an arrhythmic patient; irregular heartbeats that exceeds to 300 beats per minute. What happened to Jubilee was no ordinary case. Her heartbeat just now exceeded 400 bpm."  
  
Elisabeth silently added, "A normal heart cannot withstand such massive beats. This resulted a blood vessel rupture in her brain. We don't know yet how serious this can be - "  
  
Logan cut from the darkened corner. "Cut the medical jargon Betsy an' get ta point. Is she gonna make it or not?"  
  
"She's in coma, Logan," Hank detachedly told him. "Anything can happen."  
  
"**Betsy**?" Logan's voice was so strained Ray wondered whether he was holding for tears.  
  
Betsy swallowed before she went on, "It's a very delicate situation, Logan. Of course, anything can happen - "   
  
"Ye're bunch of lyin' doctors," Logan bellowed as he headed out of the chamber and banged the door shut.  
  
"Logan..." Xavier called out but he was already gone. His recent experience with Jubilee somehow drained his energy and even a slight effort to exert his psychic powers pained him. He looked helplessly around and settled on Elisabeth.  
  
Elisabeth burst into tears while Ray pleadingly looked at Hank who shook his head slowly. Then he knew Logan was right.  
  
  
  
Louis du Boudreaults' eyes flew open. He smiled at his own reflection at the glass panel. The face that smiled back at him was of a wealthy Texan who incidentally became his tenth victim yesterday. Now Louis could almost speak the Texan drawl almost flawlessly. He found it rather refreshing from Jack's British accent. Although Jack was an important piece in him, Louis could easily discard his personality aside and put up the Texan's personality.   
  
Now a new piece was added in him, but not for him. It would need a bit of time for the new piece to get used to the inside, but like all the rest, she would get used to it. She had to.  
  
Louis nodded to himself. Now that there was a sliver in the meat, it would make everything much more easier than before. Before sunset, another would join them, and another before sunrise. Only then all the wheels would start turning, getting ready to crush that damnable Cajun, his bane in his former life. Now the tables were turned.  
  
_Fortune rota volvitur;  
Descendo minoratus;  
Alter in altum tollitur;  
Nimis exaltatus  
Rex sedet in vertice  
Caveat ruinam!  
Nam sub axe legimus  
Hecubam reginam.  
  
The wheel of Fortune turns;  
I go down, demeaned  
Another is raised up;  
far too high up  
Sits the king at the summit -  
Let him fear Ruin!  
For under the axis is written  
Queen Hecuba. _  
  
"I absolutely love those defrocked monks who wrote _Cantata Vulgaris_," Louis whispered to himself, and nodded toward a wispy figure sitting in front of him in the stylish French restaurant overlooking the Central Park. No one else saw the figure, but if they did, they would have ran away screaming. "They write about real life with such jest and reality, unlike their holier contemporaries who only wrote about the ever-merciful, ever-forgiving grace of God. I think those holier contemporaries rarely get what they were promised of. Don't you, _Penny_?"  
  
An almost infinitesimal nod was all Louis got.  


_To be continued..._


	7. The Long Spoon (2)

**Part Seven  
  
  
The Long Spoon (2)  
**  


  
There was a knock at the door. He thought the note on the door did the job, but seemingly some people were just ignorant. Hank tiredly called, "No more visits. Can't you read the note?"  
  
"Hank, it's me, Piotr," Piotr said through the door. "May I come in?"  
  
After a moment passed Hank said, "Come in, but lock the door." Piotr did and a moment later he was beside Jubilee. "How is she? Better?"  
  
Hank shook his head desperately. "I don't know, Piotr. It seems like all of her vitals are fine, but... she's still in coma. I cannot revive her back to consciousness; I'm not an expert."  
  
Piotr asked him what happened and Hank told him the best he could. When he was done Piotr watched Jubilee's comatose expression and shook his head. "That's impossible. She's a fit woman. Arrhythmia isn't likely to strike anyone so healthy."  
  
"But here it is." Hank curled a lock of Jubilee's hair in his furry finger and released it slowly. "And I can do nothing but wait and watch."   
  
A moment passed and Hank slowly got up. "I have to refresh myself. Look for any change and if there are any, call me. Use that intercom; I'll be in the next room. Oh, and one thing. If you're leaving, lock the door. I have the key." Then Hank hobbled out of the room. Piotr shook his head. It was the first time he saw Hank's appearance so unkempt. And it was only for half a day. God knows what he would look like after tomorrow.  
  
He turned to face Jubilee who seemed to be sleeping. But her face told him she was not. There was something frozen at her face the moment she must have slipped away from the consciousness above and fell under this existence. Fear, maybe, Piotr wondered, but probably something more... pain...   
  
It was just like those days when Illyana spent her dying days beside him. Each moment Piotr would turn her around whenever she slept on her face, fearing that Death would silently grab her the moment he did not see her face. Then he would stay up beside her and sometimes played her a bit of Russian melody when it was morning. Piotr's eyes lit up at the thought. Maybe he could create reactions with some melodies.  
  
There was a spare violin in the underground chamber; he knew because he placed it there just in case the one Kitty gave him for Christmas got lost or something, then immediately returned to the lab. Locking the door behind him, Piotr sought for a perfect spot and when he found it he tested the strings first before went on playing an old Scottish folksong Jubilee loved so much.  
  
  
  
Hank was waiting for the water to boil when he noticed his computer was blinking with the message YOU HAVE NEW MESSAGE(S). Then he recalled what he had secretly done for the past two days.   
  
He opened his mailbox and found three bulk mail. Quickly he clicked the first one that was sent yesterday morning. Its contents had the headline of _Fredland's National Online News Service_. He quickly went through the news and nodded thoughtfully. The next was sent the same day on evening, around six pm. Hank's blue brows went up when he carefully read the time.  
  
After he had finished reading it he went on to the last mail. Sent early in the morning, about five am, the contents were all the same.  
  
And all, except for the one that was sent this morning, were within just a few hours afterRemy had fainted for the past two days.  
  
Hank quickly grabbed a map of New York off the table but it caught at the handle of the mug that contained cocoa powder and spilt it all over the table and the keyboard. "Stars and garters..." Hank muttered to himself.   
  
Just then he heard Piotr bellowed from the next room. He was not calling him. In fact, it sounded like he was in extreme pain.  
  
  
  
He checked in a cheap hotel (if $100 dollars per night is cheap) and immediately ran a bath. He took off his clothes and slid into the tub, all tensions in his muscles began to ease away as the fragrant bath oil did its work to his senses.  
  
Remy reached out and his fingertips touched his cigarette. He lit it up and breathed in deeply, the intoxicating smoke filled his lungs a temporary shelter from the real world. When it all disappeared Remy longed for more. He needed to escape from all of this. He needed to escape from this monstrosity of a life. He needed to go away.  
  
Remy smiled at the thought. _De only way you gonna git away is leaping into de Hell hole._ But he was not planning on doing that yet. He had to fight first. But fighting du Boudreault...?  
  
He was dead. Remy knew and saw it, and even believed that that was the end of the story. Even when the payment was his own mother and father. He thought that was the end of the past. But... someone, somewhere was not happy with how the story ended.   
  
And so decided to start everything all over again.   
  
Boudreault was not the kind who would dabble in dark magic. He once recalled how he scoffed at the Hope Diamond curse and even proudly said he would be the one to steal it and nothing would happen to him. Luckily the High Orders of _L'Enfants en Terriblè_ was not interested in acquiring the infamous diamond.  
  
But how in the hell did he manage to rise back from dead? There was no way he could have done it by himself! Whoever had heard of vampires resurrected unaided? Or monsters that defy description appear out of nowhere?   
  
Remy slid deeper in the tub. There had got to be one way Boudreault managed to return, and that meant someone had aided him in order to do all of this.   
  
That was it, Remy thought. There was no other way.  
  
Just as he was about to rise from his tub to make a phone call, Remy sensed a trickling out of his ears. He absently rubbed his forefinger into his ear and stood up. He headed toward the dressing table and took the white robe off the bed and only then, when he glanced at the mirror, he noticed the spot where he had touched the robe was red.  
  
And that his right ear was pouring out blood. It made a red blotch on his robe at the shoulder. Remy was transfixed for a moment, caught between amazement and fear.  
  
Then he screamed.  
  
  
  
No one questioned Hank's story this time. It was all too strange.   
  
Hank found Piotr lying on the floor, his violin and bow flung aside, his whole body convulsing and his eyes and ears had blood coming out of them. It took him a while to get inside because the door was locked and when he did, he almost cried out loud.  
  
Now Piotr lay in coma, in a different room, with Rogue and Kitty watching over him. Hank had his hands around his head, feeling utterly useless for the first time in his entire life. Ororo calmly laid a comforting hand on Hank's shoulder but he did not react.  
  
"How long did you leave him there?" Xavier asked gently.  
  
"Fifteen minutes, perhaps. I waited for the water to boil... I need something to drink and thought Piotr would like some, too, so I boiled extra."  
  
"Nobody in the hallway?"  
  
"No one, professor, I swear! If there was one, won't Cerebro detect them?"  
  
Xavier nodded. "I would have, too. But I detected nothing suspicious during the time limit you suggested."  
  
Hank grew more and more frustrated. "Then how did two people manage to get arrhythmia on the same day!? There is no scientific explanation! Unless this is some sort of a new virus that targets specific people only..."  
  
Logan shook his head. "Piotr had nothin' to do with Jubilee, and so's the opposite." He held Jubilee's hand as he said, "There can't be any connection." Suddenly Logan fell silent.  
  
Xavier sensed something in Logan's mind and he quickly asked, "What is it, Logan?"  
  
"Doc, did you do anythin' to Jubilee?" Logan asked Hank while his eyes were trained on Jubilee's loosely closed fist.  
  
"No. What's the matter?" Hank asked.  
  
Logan slowly opened the fist and took out a sliver of red cloth. Xavier and Hank watched in disbelief as they came to recognize what exactly was that.  
  
"No! That's impossible!" Hank shouted.  
  
Piotr had been wearing a red shirt.  
  
Emma entered as silence descended into the room. An uncomfortable moment passed when she finally said, "Hank, did you boil the water? It's done."  
  
"No... leave it there," Hank said, breathless. As Emma walked out she said, "Quite a mess you made in your room, Hank. It would take a long time to get those cocoa powder off your fingers, you being furry and all that."  
  
Hank felt as if a cartoon anvil had been dropped on his head. He slowly turned and called out to Emma. "What was that, Emma?"  
  
The strange tone in his voice compelled her to stop. "Why, the cocoa on your keyboard," she said slowly. "Seems like you spilled them onto the keyboard but you kept on working on it -- "  
  
Hank lifted a pair of clean, cocoa-free hands. "I didn't touch the cocoa, Emma."  
  
Emma frowned. "Impossible. You must have washed them before. I saw fingerprints and handprints on the keyboard -- "  
  
Without further warning Hank dashed out of the room and ran into his computer room. True enough, the spilled cocoa was still there, but something else was there, too.   
  
Against the cocoa-covered keyboard he saw fingerprints and handprints. Something else jumped into his mind. He ran towards the screen and grabbed the mouse and scrolled down the screen.  
  
All of his bulk mails had been deleted.   


_To be continued..._


	8. The Long Spoon (3)

**Part Eight  
  
The Long Spoon (3)**

**  
**  
  
No one had seen Hank unleashed his bad side since the days of Stryfe's virus infected Xavier. And that paled in comparison with what they had withstood today.  
  
In one day, someone - or something - managed to turn the ever immaculately dressed doctor into a shadow of his former being. Now Hank was nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones with restless eyes and distrusting look about him. All thanks to whoever that managed to pull off what Ray called 'an impossible feat'.  
  
Xavier sat silently in the living room while the rest of the X-Men - his X-Men - either drank coffee or talked in whispers with each other. None of these people were capable of achieving what had happened in Hank's computer room. Emma was in the showers when that happened. Ray was beside him sorting the letters that had arrived yesterday. Rogue was in one of the students' room, making her rounds. Elisabeth was on the phone with Dr Cecelia Reyes, just outside his study. Logan...  
  
"Logan," he began, " where were you when that happened?"  
  
Logan raised his head questioningly, then seemed to realize what the question was. "I was outside... in the gazebo outside."  
  
"I can certify that, Professor," Ororo suddenly butted in. "I was with him."  
  
A scandalizing silence descended for a while. Logan immediately added, "Nothing happened, for land's sake! You guys! It doesn't mean that each time I go out with a woman I'd go straight ahead!"  
  
"No need to explain, Logan. We understand," Xavier said, cutting off further protests from him. "Then one big question remains. Who deleted those mails? How would he/she know that everything that could have uncovered this whole mystery is in those mails?"  
  
"Don't forget the fingerprints," Ray added. "We've scanned over and over again until Cerebro got tired and the result was the same. They were Jubilee's."  
  
"Not forgetting that sliver of cloth in her fist," Elisabeth said. "How did that get there?"  
  
"It couldn't have," Kurt said, looking at Logan suspiciously, "unless Logan did something when he got close to her."  
  
Logan eyed Kurt warily. "Don't start, elf."  
  
"You were the one who came close enough to her body," Kurt said.  
  
"Oh yeah? Then I wasn't the only one who could have! How about you elf?! Where were you?"  
  
"I was in my bedroom!"  
  
"Who can say it's true?" Logan asked angrily.  
  
"There was nobody in my room! How do you suppose I can?"  
  
"Then you're the guilty party!" Logan said aloud, much to everyone's surprise. "You have the ability to teleport yourself to anywhere you like, and conveniently, in silence, too!"  
  
"We checked that possibility too, Logan," Emma said. "We all know that Kurt leaves brimstone scent behind every time he teleports, but there was no such thing when Hank entered the room. No funny smells, no nothing."  
  
Logan watched exasperatedly as Kurt gravely smiled. "Then... who did this? Ray said that Cerebro's mainframe logbook didn't registered anyone else after Piotr's entrance at ten. Who else could have done it?"  
  
Even as Logan's question died away, one answer was hanging in the air, but no one dared to say it. Rogue finally said it.   
  
"Hank...?"  
  
  
  
Remy had a dream:  
  
He was in 18th century France, when the Revolution had exploded and somehow he became one of the first damned on one of the most infamous executing machine of all time: the guillotine.  
  
At first Remy did not know where he was; it was all darkness and dank. He felt rough hands grabbed him in both arms and suddenly bright light exploded in his brains that made him reel for a moment. When his vision slowly improved he could see that beside him there were two burly guards and they stared at him in the most sickening manner. It made Remy's stomach lurch.  
  
Just then someone began throwing thrash at him and full assault began. Not only on his body but on his senses as well; mind, body and soul. Lining up beside the streets, it was like the whole Paris had went put to see his head roll into the basket.  
  
The next thing he knew he was standing beside the tall parallel beams, the sharp razor-like blade hanging precariously by a rope. Remy's view were minimized to that blade even as he was forced to lay belly up on the platform. As the guards placed the fastening wood over his neck Remy saw something else hovering behind the massive blade.  
  
When Remy was about to ascertain what he had seen the blade fell down at a blinding speed.  
  
He woke up just in time to feel the cold edge of the blade grazed the skin of his neck. As he got up he touched his neck, unsure if his head really was still on his neck. He turned to the dressing table and switched on the light.  
  
Just short of missing his Adam's apple was a long reddish line going from right to left. As he watched in disbelief the line began to bleed.  
  
Right then and there Remy knew he needed more than his own petty courage to face du Boudreault.  
  
  
  
"Hank, open the door!"  
  
Hank was not listening. The New York map was all over the table, with red circles and notes all over it. Now and then his eyes would jump restlessly toward the computer screen and back again, while slowly crossing out the notes seemingly at random and adding up new ones. _There has to be an explanation_, his mind feverishly insisted.  
  
Meanwhile the door rattled as someone tried to force it open. Hank paid no attention.   
  
All the circles on the map seemed to center almost exclusively around Manhattan and Central Park. Hank watched silently as his head worked out every possible explanation of what he was looking at right now.  
  
It was fortunate that Fredland's National Online News Service agreed to make a re-send on the news he had requested. Now that everything seemed to be in order, the enigmatic poem Boudreault supposedly sent them seemed to be the final piece to this whole mess.  
  
Just as then the door flew open. Logan entered, followed by Ray and Bobby. "Hank, you're coming out."  
  
"No," he firmly said.  
  
"Hank, we need to talk to you for a moment. There's no use fighting," Bobby said.  
  
"Doc, ye're gonna have a little chit-chat with Professor," Logan said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We think you're the one behind these strange things."  
  
Hank slowly looked up from the map, anger ready to pop up from his brows. "And the reason is... ?"  
  
"You have all the equipment and knowledge to presumably concoct a biological agent that would create a reaction in humans similar to arrhythmia," Bobby said. "Emma claimed to see you administered a shot to Jubilee and Piotr the other day - "  
  
Anger coming from one of the calmest members of the X-Men was a sight to behold,... or to run away from. "That was for their cold! Not to mention it happened a week ago!!" Hank shouted, the tiny proximity of his computer room made his shouts all the more frightening. "For the love of Hippocrates, I will never disobey the Doctor's Oath! What could have forced you, of all people, to jump into such conclusions!? I will never kill my own patients!"   
  
"I'm sorry," Ray said almost tearfully. "But everyone seems to think you did this, Hank."  
  
"NO!" Hank shouted as he tried to barge through the human barricade. "I will not stand in silence! I am innocent!" he shouted even as Logan and Bobby restrained him. "I don't kill my friends or patients!!"  
  
Suddenly Bobby's hold on Hank slipped and Hank yanked free from Logan's hold. Seizing the chance, he immediately ran down the corridor. At the other end he bumped into Kitty who was in tears.  
  
"Hank, oh, please help me!" she shouted hysterically.  
  
"I am trying to save my own fur here, Kitty, so get lost!"  
  
"Please, Hank! Rogue... Rogue's fainted! There are blood coming out of her mouth and nose and everywhere and I don't know how it happened - "  
  
  
  
Xavier slumped in his wheelchair when he heard what Hank told him. "Not again," he groaned.  
  
"Cruel this may seem, this is a perfect timing. Indeed," Hank went on as angered stares were directed to him, "this has essentially proven my innocence."  
  
"How's that?" Kurt asked angrily.   
  
"Emma will confirm that the shots I gave Piotr and Jubilee were harmless, and Rogue never met me for a medical consultation. And I deeply and honestly confess to all of you, my friends, that I have never created a biological agent that will bring any sort of threat to humankind and mutantkind alike."  
  
"Then how do you explain this? Rogue's the third person to contract this... ailment in just one night!"  
  
"Give me time, my friends, and I will go to the bottom of this. And for your own sakes, go and get some sleep. It's already dawn."  
  
"I can't sleep," Logan said. "Not when everyone around me are dropping like flies."  
  
"Neither can I," Kurt said.  


_To be continued..._


	9. Sunrise

**Part Nine   
  
Sunrise  
**  
  
  
Remy couldn't sleep much after the dream.  
  
Dawn was breaking over Manhattan, and already the traffic noise increased. He stared sightlessly at the thick curtain that blocked out the sunlight, then his gaze dropped closer at home, to his own exposed left thigh. Aside a marvelous example of masculine muscularity, only one small thing marred the perfection.   
  
Remy traced a small but long scar down his naked thigh as his mind reeled back to the past, back to where he thought he could finally settle down with someone. Whether he loved her or not that was not the question back then. What he had known was he needed her, and she needed someone whom she could trust.   
  
Someone who could lend a shoulder to cry on.   
  
Not someone who would eventually led her to her death.  
  
He was used to sleeping alone and waking up to utter loneliness, but this morning it felt like his whole world had went into a vacuum. The silence seemed to drum into his ears. Nothing would be the same after today.  
  
After a while in his mind he scratched the thought of seeking help from his fellow friends. He would have to face his own past alone, where all of his sins resided and threatened to explode out.  
  
At the thought Remy started to cry.   
  
  
  
  
Refreshed and ready to face the day - at least superficially - Remy put on a silver sunshade and his usually chaotic hair was wrapped up neatly in bandanna. His receipt said that he had ten more minutes to checking out. It was eight in the morning.  
  
Briefly Remy wondered about the sudden bleedings. His mind quickly resorted to Louis. It had to be him, he obstinately though. Somehow he had been playing this game and probably enjoyed watching Remy feeling like a cornered fox. Remy had no idea what he was up to now, but he could bet it was nothing good.  
  
The reception counter was most apologetic and concerned. "What happened last night, sir? The domestic reported hearing you screamed. You should have called the emergency line should there were some things that disturbed you deeply."  
  
Remy snickered inwardly as he flashed a benign smile at the man. _Oh yeah. Like you can handle La Mort himself_. "Had a bad night. Dat's all."  
  
Everything was perfect and Remy was outside. The morning was still chilly, but soon after heat settled in. _Okay, Cajun_, Remy said to himself. _Where would a dead man go wit' a crazy mission?_  
  
There was no forthcoming answer. So he prowled the busy street and fifteen minutes later he found himself standing in front of the Central Park entrance. To his right was the lake. Remy thought he could use a rest and took a seat beside the lake.  
  
Far in the middle of the lake he could see a swan leading her cygnets. Joggers passed him now and then as he slowly relaxed himself.   
  
If only life could be so idle, Remy would have died from the redundancy. That was his former thought. Now he wished he could just run away from this whole mess and just take one nap without waking up to another strange bleeding at strange places.  
  
His sharp ear caught a distinct sound so weak that at first he thought whether he had imagined it. Then slowly he hoped that he had as he turned to his left and took off his shades.  
  
An opening in the middle of the park, not far from Remy's seat, was filled with cooing doves. A couple was feeding the doves with breadcrumbs and they were caught in the middle of those birds. As the woman suddenly turned the doves were startled and the sound of wings flapping filled the air for a long moment.  
  
Amidst the ascending doves Remy caught the sight of the woman and her partner, and wished to hell he did not.  
  
Louis du Boudreault, grinning madly at him as he waved a pale hand at Remy, and _Penelope Roquefort_, green eyes wide with realization and fear.  
  
When the doves were all gone both had disappeared as if they were never there. Remy stared at the opening and realized that he had held his breath until now. Something warm touched his cheek and Remy slowly placed his finger there. When he brought his finger back to view there was blood on it.  
  
Something inside him compelled him to stand and call back home. Back to the institute. He was no longer sure whether he could face du Boudreault alone anymore.  
  
  
  
At seven a.m. all the heartbeats of the three patients dropped drastically to 40 beats per minute. Hank struggled to keep them alive, but with a skeleton crew (Elisabeth and Kitty had volunteered) and fear of another sudden arrhythmic attack dragged down their spirits noticeably and their attention were obviously lacking. An hour later Hank dismissed both of them despite their wild protests. "Too much cook spoils the broth," he told them politely.  
  
When they finally went away Hank slumped on his chair and covered his face with his hands. He had been with the X-Men for a long time, and he had seen some of the strangest things, and in some cases, some things mortals weren't supposed to see. But this was simply out of his league. He could propose every single theory from Einstein to Newton to explain this matter, or even Carl Jung if he were confident. But since last night his confidence had been cruelly stripped off his mind. All that remained was utter helplessness.   
  
Unless...   
  
He slowly grabbed the map again and went through it carefully. After a while he placed it aside and turned his attention to the computer screen. The online newspaper clipping service was purportedly the best, and Hank could see why. It was still unofficial, and the New York Police Department wanted to keep it under wraps, but these underground reporters could sniff a story down to a detail.  
  
Beginning from Westchester's Saint Christopher Chapel, the same gory crime moved quickly to Manhattan alleys, scattered around the Central Park. Early in the morning two of those who had been found were the homeless, but at nightfall a firm worker who did not come to work that day was found near the lake. Next morning two more victims, both from respectable firms, were found at the same spot.   
  
These were the reported cases. God knows how many else did not reach the PD.   
  
What piqued Hank's interest was the fact that almost all of the victims were in a perfect state of health before they were tentatively declared 'missing' by NYPD. Hank did not blame the police: how can the relatives identify the bodies when all that remained of the victims were melted flesh and coagulated blood?  
  
Hank turned on the media player in the computer. It was the recorded news flash from the first day this whole mess started. He was still captivated by the blood on the wall, and each time the record came to that he stopped it, wondering what could have made him so interested in that particular scene.   
  
Behind the media player Hank saw the online news clip and saw a hyperlinked file named **Past/Similar Crimes**. He debated briefly before he paused the player and let it float in the background. He clicked on the hyperlink and waited as a new page was presented to him. It was a French article, dated two years ago. What made Hank's eyes bulge in disbelief was not its contents, but the photo along it.  
  
Blood was splattered upon a white wall, and distinctly beyond the white wall there were spires, indicating that this wall probably enclosed a church. Hank quickly translated the footnote below the picture in his mind:  
  
_Saint Cecelia Church, Orlean_s.  
  
Hank deftly dragged the paused media player into view, just above the picture. Then he coughed endlessly.  
  
It was a perfect duplicate of the other, including the nuns. Just as then the phone rang.  
  
  
  
"Henry McCoy."  
  
"Hank, _mon am_i! You have to help _moi_!"  
  
"No, no. You have to help me."  
  
Remy paused. "_Pardon_?"  
  
"You knew something we don't, Remy. What happened in Orleans, France, in front of Saint Cecelia Church, two years ago?"  
  
Another hesitant pause. "What.. what do you mean?"  
  
"You've gone for seven years and suddenly a year ago you returned without a word on the past. Out of respect, we never asked you what happened in between those years. But now clearly something had happened during that time. Other than you brief affiliation with _L'Enfants en Terriblè_*, we got nothing else."  
  
"Hank, _mon ami_, you have to listen - "  
  
"Remy, Jubilee, Piotr and Rogue fell into a deep coma yesterday."  
  
Another long pause ensued. "J... Jubilee? Piotr? Rogue?! Hank, what's happening dere?!"  
  
"I have no explanation. The three seemed to simply fall into a deep coma when no one was around. Well, except for Jubilee."  
  
"Coma...?"  
  
"Remy, you have to help us. Rogue's life is in danger, and so are Jubilee's and Piotr's. Now, I have a reason to believe that whatever's going on here has to do with what had happened two years ago in Orleans. You have to tell me what happened there two years ago."  
  
Hank heard him swallowed at the other end. "Dere's not'in' to talk 'bout."  
  
"Yes there is," Hank said sternly. "Look, Remy. We don't know who is this person is, and if he really is du Boudreault, I don't want to know how he came to be here while all of us saw his head shattered to eternity... or hell, whatever. I want to know why is he so obsessed in coming after you. And from my past experiences, this sort of vengeful minds were more or less likely attributed by - "  
  
"I... I can't tell you here, _mon ami_. Gambit have to go. Do not trace dis call, ok?" Then the disappointing long beep followed. Hank placed the handset glumly.  
  
Ray said from behind Hank, "We got him. Payphone along Central Park 85th Street, Transverse Rd."  
  
Hank stared at the New York map. What in the world was this Cajun doing in Manhattan? Not to mention that was the center of the so-called 'missing persons kidnappings'.   
  
Ray's shaky voice intruded his mind. "Hank... there's something else."  
  
"Go on," he said. After last night, he was prepared to hear anything.  
  
"I did what you requested on the surveillance cameras, and came up with nothing." Hank's sigh was a mixture of relief and disappointment. "Save for one."  
  
He wished he could not ask. "Which one?"  
  
As an answer Ray placed a videotape inside a VCR player and pushed the PLAY button. The screen flickered slowly to life and Hank saw there Piotr's ward. There were Kitty and Rogue sitting beside the bed, talking but nothing could be heard. A minute later Kitty rose up and walked out of view, presumably out of the room. As Rogue rose and walked around, Hank saw Piotr's hand slowly rose. It settled on the bed as it steadied itself to support Piotr's massive bulk and the next Piotr was sitting up on the bed. Rogue seemed to sense this: she suddenly turned and wide-eyed she stared at him in disbelief.  
  
As she moved slowly toward Piotr his hands suddenly shot to her and settled at her neck roughly. It seemed like Piotr was strangling her but he was not; he seemed to be merely holding her neck. Rogue's struggles showed otherwise. Later she ceased moving and there was a brief flash that flew out of Rogue's open mouth. A moment later she fell lifelessly onto the floor and Piotr resumed his position.   
  
And everything made sense to Hank now. Made a real fricking sense.   


*_refer to Past, Tense Past; Remy's French affiliate_

_To be continued..._


	10. And The Gods Laughed

**Part Ten  
  
And the Gods Laughed**  


  
  
"Are you telling me that Piotr, the comatose man, is doing this?!" Logan screamed. For someone whose animal instincts are a second nature, Logan seemed almost losing his head. "Where is the scientifically correct doc I used to know?!"  
  
"But the video showed it all, Logan! That's a definite proof!" Ray relented angrily.   
  
"Maybe you put some fancy tech on it to make the movie look like this," Logan silently said, his voice bitterly accusing.   
  
Hank exasperatedly said, "We did not, Logan."  
  
"Then how in the hell - "   
  
"We don't know, and we are not even close to finding out. That is, if we continue to approach this matter scientifically. To paraphrase the old Sherlock Holmes, a solution, no matter how farfetched it sounds, if there is no other solution possible, is the true solution."  
  
"Are you suggesting that this is a paranormal incident?" Kurt said slowly. Hank's mind never bothered to dabble in the unknown as long as he could recall. "This should prove rather... unbelievable."  
  
Hank sighed. "At this point, I'm on the verge of trusting psychic hotlines. Let me show all of you what I have managed to collect for the past twenty-four hours."  
  
All gathered closer. Hank spread the New York map and a paper where he had outlined the events that had occurred beginning from the midnight caller until today. Half an hour later silence shrouded the room. Logan rose from his seat and paced around restlessly. "You've gotta be kiddin', doc. Don't tell me du Boudreault's really back? Where is he then?"  
  
"That and the methods of how will remain unknown for the moment. What mattered now is Remy's safety and the condition of our fellow comatose friends."  
  
"Maybe du Boudreault is somewhere in Manhattan too," said Kitty.  
  
"How does this ties in to what we received from that strange ad?" Kurt asked. "That still doesn't make sense to me."  
  
"That was why Remy had been so firm in his belief." Hank recounted to them a strange case in Orleans, France two years ago where, while the forensics found human hair, tissue and blood all over the place that could have suggested foul play, both the victim and the murderer was never found. He showed them the printed version of the news.  
  
"It's... it's so similar," Jean said. "Just like the one we saw in the news the other day."  
  
"You think Remy's a part of this?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. About an hour ago he called me. We managed to trace his call."  
  
Logan was the first to pounce. "Where?"  
  
Ray held out a hand. "Cool it, Logan. We are still waiting for professor's word."  
  
"He's using Cerebro to track Remy? Only now he uses that stuff?"  
  
"Do you remember what happened the last time he used it to find Remy with du Boudreault's powers around?" Hank asked him.  
  
  
  
Xavier was now flying over Central Park. His body was in Westchester, but his mind was tracking Remy. The last position Hank gave him had proven fruitless; Remy must have moved away.   
  
What in the world had caused this man to be chased by someone who was probably already dead? What bitter memories do they share that it even seem worthy to leave his students' life in balance? Xavier felt his control wavered for a moment before he hastened to concentrate on Remy's mind.  
  
Disturbance. Usually a small disturbance was caused by normal human with a small degree of psychic qualities like premonitions or heightened sensitivity. This one almost cancelled his own out. Xavier could sense Remy in that direction, too. As he prepared to move toward the source, he sensed that same disturbance again. This time it got stronger each moment he moved closer. But the resistance was temporary, and Xavier subtly cancelled out the disturbance.  
  
He found himself standing in a lavish restaurant. There was a maitrê d' who stood over a couple and gave them their orders. Xavier heard in his mind he said in French de la confiture aimons bon appetit, monsieur et mademoiselle. Xavier mind spun. There was a new French restaurant in the Manhattan's vicinity named La Confiture. He made a mind note of that.  
  
Xavier waited. The sense of disturbance filled the air again, so palpable he could almost feel it sink into his astral form. Just as he was about to turn he sensed Remy's mind below him.  
  
  
  
"You're goddamned lying," he said. From the wine glass he finished the champagne in one swift sip. "You're a goddamned liar."  
  
Penelope could not move or protest; her strength was entirely taken from her after what she saw in the park this morning. Louis sensed her thoughts on planning to escape, and now she was his puppet, moving only when he consented so.  
  
"I am not lying, Louis," she said with great difficulty. "There's the truth; why don't you swallow it? You worked so hard for it; why can't you face it now?"  
  
"Don't try my patience, woman," Louis said between gritted teeth. "I have tried to stop my hand from striking your worthless face since yesterday."  
  
"Then why don't you just kill me, dammit?" Penelope said angrily. "If I am worthless there's no use keeping me here."  
  
A sudden smile lit up Louis' face; the view was frightening. "You are worthless, yes, but not for long. There are still some things you need to accomplish before I let you return."  
  
"If you ever let me return. I know you, Louis. You're never satisfied unless everyone around you is nothing but flesh and bone, lifeless."  
  
"And what are we, my dear Penny? Are we nothing of what you have just said? We're nothing but illusions for the human eye. Underneath is what who we really are."  
  
"Stop philosophizing, Louis. It makes me sick."  
  
"I never realized I had the talent, Penny. After my resurrection I feel a bit different," he pointed at his left temple, "here. Maybe what Remy gave my head the other day took out something and put something more valuable in it. I have to thank him for that."  
  
At the mention of Remy's name her eyes welled up with tears. She did not even dare to think of him because Louis could see them, but she could not help it. They were too strong, even for someone who had died two years ago and resurrected yesterday. One tear traveled down her cheek.  
  
"Oh, you're crying. Here, let me wipe it," Louis said as he reached to wipe it off. She moved her face away from his hand, much to his anger. Louis narrowed his eyes and Penelope found herself moving toward his waiting hand. When he touched her cheek she never felt dirtier in her life... or death.  
  
Suddenly the psychic hold was gone in an instant that Penelope fell back on her chair, nearly knocking herself off to the floor. Louis' eyes were narrower, if possible, and more restless. Then he grinned, wolf-like and deadly.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the Head himself," he said, staring at the entrance. "You'll make a precious addition to my army of souls."  
  
  
  
Xavier never felt this naked and vulnerable.  
  
Before he could even move, Louis' searching glance pinned him directly on the wall. He could not move from the overwhelming power and felt unseen fangs sunk under his forearms and arms and slowly draining him. _God, help me! There is no time to call for my X-Men..._  
  
Just as his astral form began to fade he sensed another familiar mind... it was Remy, just outside. He sensed Remy's muddled mind, tasted his fears and worries, and with the last grains of strength he focused on Remy.  
  
  
  
The sudden psychic slam in his brain was so intense he slipped and hit his head on the pavement. The passers-by quickly moved aside, fearing a crazy man on the verge of amok. Remy stared blindly at the sun as his hands held his painfully throbbing head.  
  
_This is Xavier, Remy. You must listen to me._  
  
Remy sensed that this was not one of Louis' trick and he tried to listen.  
  
_I need your help, Remy. Go up this restaurant, the La Confiture. You will find Louis at the fourth table. He's trying to kill me. You'll be able to inflict mortal wounds on him as he is deep in astral realm. Hurry, Remy. There is no more time left. He's gotten hold on me.  
_  
Remy slowly got up and looked around. There was a signboard that said La Confiture. Quickly he wiped his bleeding head and rushed inside.   
  
The maitrê d' saw him and noticed his bleeding head and decided that Remy was some troublemaker. "I'm sorry monsieur, but do you have a reservation?"  
  
"Damn de reservation! Gambit's here to save someone!"  
  
"But sir - "  
  
Remy pushed him aside and strode with predatory speed toward the fourth table. Sitting at the table was a trim man in his fifties and a young woman who stared at him fearfully. _Dis has to be a mistake_, Remy thought._ Dis must be Louis' trick!_  
  
_No!_ screamed Xavier into his head._ That is Louis, Remy! You have to trust me!_  
  
Suddenly the young woman pulled his arm toward her and they stood face to face. Just as then her face became liquid before it settled into a face Remy thought he'd never see again.  
  
"_Remy! Release me!_" she whispered to him painfully.   
  
Without hesitation now he moved toward the old man in white and charging a spoon that he took from the table to its fullest he threw it to his head. As expected it exploded and the patrons of the restaurant screamed at the sight.   
  
Remy did not wait; he quickly took off as Xavier had told him with the woman he had seen with his own eyes died two years ago in Orleans.  
  
  
  
Ororo saw the red lights flashed over the entrance to Cerebro and waited nervously as she informed Jean. Later the door opened and she found Xavier lying on the floor. "Professor! Are you all right? Answer me!"  
  
Xavier stirred, coughed and opened his eyes. "Ah... you're a sight for sore eyes, Ororo." He coughed again, and this time it drew out blood. Minutes later Jean was beside him on a makeshift ward.  
  
"What happened, professor?" Jean asked.   
  
He smiled bitterly. "I know what in the world is happening."  
  
"So did Hank claimed, but we're no closer from where we started." Jean said tiredly.  
  
He laughed deep in his chest. "But of course. Hank used his head to decipher things. I used my mind and the man's behind Louis du Boudreault's personality. And believe me, I'll never want to go there again. Ever."  
  
"So what is it?"  


_To be continued..._


	11. Silence

  
**Part Eleven  
  
Silence  
**  
  
The main door closed on its own when Remy and Penelope reached it, throwing back the maitrê d' who was standing just outside. The whole restaurant began to fill with a sickening sense of dread much similar to the one Remy felt when he had stood outside the mansion with Rogue. They turned around to see Louis' headless body vibrating violently.  
  
Slowly he realized that the body was, somehow, laughing. Truly, he could hear it as he began to realize that, in his head. Penelope must have heard that too, as she started to cover her ears and hugged him tighter.  
  
The laughter was playing in his head like some insistent gramophone, playing over and over again. Under the bright afternoon sun illuminated by the glass paneled roof from above Remy saw something else was happening to the body; from the gaping hole that was Louis' neck frothed out something akin to water but with thick consistency and its color was clear, like water. Just as slowly it began to overflow from the severed neck and fell out in disgusting small tendrils. They gained more dimension as they touched the floor, hissing and searching.  
  
All the while the laughter never cease in their heads.  
  
A woman who sat next to Louis' table fainted the moment the watery tendrils touched her, which was all the better because the next thing that happened made the patrons screamed in terror.  
  
One of the tendrils touched her leg and quickly, as if her skin was some stimuli it bound her feet and flung her across the room, toward a seventeenth century shield that had a sharp spike on the middle. It met her head and the tendril hungrily licked at the blood and entered the shattered head. Slowly they all saw the body began to deflate and melt away.  
  
Terrified silence reigned for a moment before panic exploded and turned one of the most prestigious restaurant in Manhattan into a swamp of survival and fear.  
  
The laughter in their heads served to heighten the craziness more. The tendrils gained speed and velocity, as if the first victim nourished the rest of them with vital energy. The panicked patrons who were not fast enough were plucked of their feet and flung across the room, splattering their brains on the marble wall while the tendrils feasted on them greedily.   
  
And it went on.  
  
  
  
"We have to stop him," Hank said when Xavier was done. "He is a deadly force. Remy cannot fight him alone."  
  
"But even if we got there in time, how can we fight him? From what I heard, he's as close as he can be to being invincible," Bobby said.   
  
"Everyone has a weakness, Bobby," Logan said. "We just have to know where to look."  
  
"Oh yeah? Where, in National Geographic?"  
  
Logan gave him a black-daggers stare. "Use your brains, pretty boy."  
  
Elisabeth snapped her fingers. "I think I've got it."  
  
"What is it?" they all chorused.  
  
"_Ectoplasm_."  
  
  
  
Everything was quiet now. Almost all of the patrons were either on the floor or on the wall, all were lifeless. The once civilized-looking restaurant now resembled a barbaric slaughter house. Penelope and Remy sat huddled together in a corner, their escape thwarted by the firmly closed doors and windows. Even when Remy shattered the windows open it seemed there was another unseen barrier that forbade them to reach outside.   
  
Louis' laughter had long cease, and now his body lay quietly on the chair, shaking now and then. The tendrils, however were still around him, hissing threateningly whenever Remy tried to venture closer.   
  
_Not now, Remy_, he heard Louis in his head. _I want to have a fair fight with you. Can't you see I'm not ready?_  
  
"You damned devil! When are you going to stop dis?"  
  
_I never intend to stop unless you die before me_, Louis replied. A tendril rose like a snake would toward him and he lithely stepped aside, avoiding its blood-red tip still drenched from the blood of its victims. _Then I will stop._  
  
"Why, Louis. What have I done to deserve dis," Remy said almost pleadingly.   
  
_YOU KILLED PENNY! _Louis suddenly bellowed in his head, making the whole world around him spin mercilessly_. YOU KILLED HER AND LET HER DIE WITHOUT A TRACE! I CAN'T EVEN FIND HER BONES! I CAN'T EVEN ERECT A GRAVESTONE FOR HER!  
_  
"Louis, you don't understand! Remy never killed her! Remy never met her that day! You can't imagine Remy's feelin' when she died! I was hurt too!"  
  
_LIAR!_  
  
"Stop...," Penelope said suddenly. "Louis, I told you... Remy did not kill me..."  
  
_STOP!  
_  
"Then who did?" Remy asked her.  
  
_STOP!!  
_  
Penelope looked at him with tired eyes, looking more and more transparent with each breath. "Monsieur Sinister."  
  
_LIAAAARRRRRR!!!!!!  
  
_The scream exploded in Remy's brain; it crippled him for a while as the tendrils suddenly elongated around and past Remy toward Penelope, wound themselves around her and pulled her toward Louis. Quickly Remy grabbed hold of Penelope's hands that flailed amongst the wild tentacles and pulled them.   
  
"Remy..."  
  
"_Non_! Tell me what you've said is not true!"  
  
She shook her head slowly; Louis's screams deafening in the background. "I don't lie, Remy... what is it left for me to lose, or gain? He did it, Remy, but I don't know why..."  
  
Her hands was fast fading in his hold. "Remy, let me go."  
  
"_NON_!" He was close to tears.  
  
She suddenly smiled, a calm, unfettered smile. "You did well, as a friend, as a lover. I never had the chance to repay your kindness. Now please let me do so before I lose this chance forever."  
  
"Wha - " he began just as he felt her hands simply fade in his hold. "No.. no no... Penny,... Penny!" He fumbled as Penelope's figure dissolved inside the chaotic tangles slowly. "_Penny_!"  
  
Louis began to shake involuntarily as a slow glow suffused from toe to head. Just as it reached his head his almost perfectly formed head began to split and crack, letting out something similar to a club fungi expelling its spores. Just as it reached the air it quickly disappeared. Then his head closed again as he fell on the floor shaking, groaning.  
  
There was a loud crash; Remy looked upwards. The glass-paneled roof was broken, and a large jagged piece fell toward him fast.   
  
_Mon Dieu_, he thought as he closed his eyes.   



	12. Final Showdown

Part Twelve  
  
Final Showdown  
  
  
  
Ray never had been in a real combat scene, but today his power was needed, at least theoretically, to destroy Louis. Based on what happened last time, Ray knew Louis was a very powerful mutant.   
  
"Just remember to keep yourself out of view until all of us got into place, okay?" Elisabeth said to him.  
  
"How can I NOT remember, miss? You've repeated yourself for the last ten minutes."  
  
Logan said, "That boy will do fine, Betsy. Just don't go an' make him nervous." He turned to face Elisabeth. "You sure this will work?"  
  
"Theoretically, yes."  
  
"Then what will happen to Jubes, Piotr and Rogue?"  
  
Elisabeth did not want to know.  
  
  
  
"Looks like my little secret's out."  
  
Sinister stood in the middle of the massive room, bloodied by the mutilated patrons' bodies, the broken glass roof everywhere. He trod carefully toward Louis who was still kneeling with head between his shoulders, breathing heavily. "I never thought I'd come this far only to be foiled by a soul dead for two years ago."  
  
"Why... did... you... kill Penny?" he hissed.  
  
"Why?" Sinister laughed. "What a stupid question. Why? You know something, one great philosopher used to ask that, and finally he was condemned to die. Questions, my dear Louis, are a worthless invention for the less fortunate to move up the social ladder. Or the hierarchy of the mutants, if it were to be applied to the newer world. I am a powerful mutant, yes. You are a powerful mutant, but bent on revenge. That blinded your conscience, which is good for me! I want what you have, you have what I need. What a convenient marriage!"  
  
Louis looked up, his face paler now that the tendrils he had coming out of his neck had been severed by Sinister's bio-electric powers. His whole being was not fully restored, and now his body began suffering. "You... scum."  
  
Sinister laughed. "I know. I've been called worse, believe me. But who's the actual scum here? You fell for my deal in order to seek revenge, you sold your soul to me to gain more power. That failed, you used your soul to re-exact your revenge, going on a killing rampage across New York. Do you realize the NYPD thought they had the crazy killer who used acid to kill his victims behind bars?" He shook his head slowly. "You could have escaped this, clean as a whistle. If not for that bitch whom you wanted so much to show off around."  
  
"She's my lover!" Louis shouted and grimaced. The dryness in his throat was unbearable. He could see his hands began to slowly fade under the sun and made a dive towards the shadowy nook of an upturned table. "She's my lover," he repeated in a whisper.  
  
Sinister made a sympathetic smile that could have him bagged an award. "Aaaawww, isn't it sweet. Love across the planes." He crouched before Louis who was shaking in pain, like a man under malaria. "But that's what differentiates me from you. I am an immortal. While you're just some scum with a fucked-up chromosome that gives you this power."  
  
One tentacle had been silently sliding across the floor behind Sinister and was about to sap him off when Louis saw his hand shot out to it. He grasped it tight in his hands; Louis screamed voicelessly. "You fool. You think I am not immune to this?" He grasped it tighter; Louis struggled to contain the pain while his open mouth expelled nothing. The pained expression on his face was enough to make a man wince.   
  
Sinister pulled the tentacle in one clean jerk; it came off with a violent spurt of blood from the base of his neck and Louis started to gasp for breath. "Stop..." he breathlessly said. "Stop..."  
  
"I will," Sinister smiled mirthlessly. "After you're dead." He covered his lips in a burlesque effort to present a prim image. "Oops, I forgot. You're already dead." He laughed aloud as Louis struggled to cover his bloody neck. "Which makes you underqualified to apply for a grave lot. I guess you'll die in some Potter's Field."  
  
Blood seeping from between his lips, Louis' smile was as sudden as it was nightmarish while he slowly managed to say, "I suggest you rethink that, Sinister."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Sinister said as he leant closer. "Why is that?" he whispered.  
  
"I just made a good friend back from the grave."  
  
Sinister wondered briefly what in the hell was he talking about when he suddenly felt his head gave way to a violent explosion. With everything that was left in his body Louis kicked Sinister in the balls as hard as he could and struggled to stand.   
  
Remy stood unsteadily before him, looking down at Sinister with a gaping hole in the forehead, struggling to contain the pain. "Dat should get his attention. You're all right?" he asked Louis. Then he took notice of the blood trickling down his neck. "Guess not," he answered to himself.  
  
Louis merely looked at him and started to turn away. Remy quickly ran to his side. "Hey... Louis."  
  
He turned with a pained expression. "Arrest me, Remy. I've done a lot of damage."  
  
Remy nodded, Melinda's death still a raw wound in his mind. "Dat I don't deny. But one thing. Why did you save me just now?"  
  
Louis looked down and then at the still writhing form of Sinister. He was compelled to smile but managed to supress it. "Nothing."  
  
"Remy!" said a voice he recognized. It was Bobby. "What - oh my God, what happened here?"  
  
"Hell! That's Louis! Kill him!" Logan screamed as he raced toward him.  
  
Remy quickly threw a card to him that effectively stopped him. "_Non_, Logan. Sinister manipulated him. But Gambit's glad all's over now."  
  
"Sinister? Where is he?" Elisabeth said as she looked around. Suddenly something grabbed her on the neck and she managed to give a short shriek.

Remy turned to Louis who was looking at him with white eyes. "Sorry, Remy, but it's not over till I say so." The severed tentacles had somehow grown back around his neck. They writhed now and then, making Louis looked like some monstrous octopus.   
  
There was a quick hissing sound that Remy recognized and in an instant all of the X-Men were lifted high above the floor by those tentacles. Logan clawed at the tentacles but his claws merely went through them while the others could only struggle. "Goddamit!" Logan managed to say.   
  
"Louis, stop dis," Remy said.  
  
"He can't, Remy!" A voice said from somewhere on the roof. "Now I will obtain the X-Men's essences to create the ultimate being I need to succeed!"  
  
"Louis, fight it!"  
  
"No, Remy! He won't dare! He needs it! Can't you see how desperate he is?!"  
  
Remy could see his five friends began to visibly deflate and the watery tentacles fill with blood, flowing toward Louis' now hideously bloated neck. He began throwing kinetically charged cards at his neck but just as then his feet got bound by a new tentacle. He was lifted up high in the air.  
  
"Louis! Fight him! For your sake fight dat son of a bitch!" Remy screamed, dangling upside down from the tentacle.  
  
Those who were wound around the neck became more and more deflated to almost twice their former size. Any longer and it would be too late. Remy closed his eyes and prayed for some sort of a miracle.  
  
Behind his closed eyes Remy sensed a sudden change of temperature. _Mon Dieu, Gambit's next,_ he thought. But the slipping sensation never came. Instead the heat became more and more intense until Remy could feel it around him. He opened his eyes and the sudden brightness that met his sight was too unbearable. He squinted to see more clearly.  
  
Behind Louis he could see someone standing with hands held outward, palms outward on Louis' back. From there the bright greenish-white light originated and spread throughout Louis' body, then to the hideous tentacles. As the heat seared, the hold on Remy's feet loosened.   
  
"No! NO! Who are you!?" Remy could hear Sinister's voice above them. "Stop this! Stop!!"  
  
As Remy turned to have a better look at Louis something akin to a nuclear explosion started from inside him. It expanded in a reddish circle hue and as it did so the tentacles around his neck and those that elongated beyond began to disassociate slowly.   
  
"NO! YOU'RE DESTROYING EVERYTHING!"  
  
As each tentacle disappeared Remy saw in the heart of the red circle Louis, smiling at him. The last word he heard before he slid into the abyss was:  
  
"_Tu es completement debile, Remy_."  



	13. Epilogue

  
**Epilogue**  
  
  
  
_Tu es completement debile, Remy*.  
_  
He could still hear him in his head. There was no anger in it, but a calming sense of release. How many times had he ever heard it coming from him?   
  
_Tu es completement debile, Remy._  
  
There was nothing that he could do. He slipped into the abyss as Louis pushed him back to the surface, but he insisted on staying. Fraught with self-pity he had stubbornly clutched there.   
  
_Tu es completement debile, Remy._  
  
_Debile, moi?_ Remy shook his head. _Ills sout completement debile**, Louis. Fools for the gods._   
  
There is no one on the earth who is not a complete fool, at least once. Everyone had been there, and they tried to escape it, fearing its jaws. But whenever we tried to run from it, unconsciously we are edging ourselves to another form of the same foolery. The world is like that. An endless repetition of the same pattern, only in a chaotic manner, no order, no rules.   
  
_What do you gain from dis, Louis?_ he asked the emptiness. _What do we gain from dis fights? I still can't understand dis, even after a lot of fights I went through. What good do actually come of it?_  
  
The emptiness echoed hollowly. It made him sink deeper.   
_  
Tu_ _es completement debile, Remy.  
_  
He smiled again. Such tenderness in such a bad sentence. He knew Louis always meant well whenever he said that. Penny would have agreed, too. It was just his way of conveying his gratefulness. He could not bring himself to say the proper words.  
  
Where is he now? Twice dead, Remy wondered whether he liked it. Now is a worse punishment than that.   
  
He closed his eyes when the distant creak of the door alerted him from his reminiscences. Hank's familiar hobbling was a welcomed sound to his tired ears. He sensed another person but he could not tell who it was until he heard them talking.  
  
"He's all right. He's a strong man, and he'll heal quickly."  
  
"Ah hope you're right, Hank. Man, Ah can't tell you how much Ah missed you guys. And him, too." He felt his hand being held and a soft pair of lips touched him. "Get well soon, dear."  
  
"It's amazing what happened that day. You and Piotr and Jubes regained consciousness simultaneously, defeating Louis and stopped Sinister short of world domination using the X-Men's souls..."  
  
"He's always a sad sicko. I don't know how he did it but it's terrible, that's for sure. I cannot even stand at the thought of it."  
  
"Sinister's knowledge seems to have surpassed the usual biological field he was famed for. Now he's reaching beyond the third dimension... the astral planes. Think what he could have done if he could extend this kind of technology to reach all the dead forces of the dark..."  
  
"You mean the bad guys?"   
  
A pause. Presumably Hank must have nodded. "It's a frightening thought. We can see Louis as a test subject of how far can he control a soul without actually making them realize Sinister was really controlling them. It seems like he could have achieved - _perfected_ - this."  
  
"While they, at risk of losing their lives, stopped him dead short of that."  
  
"We have to thank Ray for this. He used up a lot of energy that day; he never quite recovered from that incident. You noticed those scars on his face?"  
  
"Yes, poor boy. Where did he get those?"  
  
"Seemingly whenever his powers are used to the max, his skin will start to peel off at certain intervals. He just found that out that day; obviously he never had the need to exploit them to its fullest."  
  
"I hope he's all right now."  
  
"No fear. He's stable. And so are Bobby, Betsy, Kurt and Kitty."  
  
"Logan?"  
  
"Do we have to talk about him? He went out to have a beer as soon as he saw his scars on the neck healed. I can't stand such ignorant patients."  
  
A long pause followed. "It's horrible, isn't it?"  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Power." Remy heard her shudder. "Its lure sweet, its reward deadly."  
  
"In the correct hands Power is a wonderful equipment. The wrong hands will only exploit it to the wrong path. A double-edged dagger."  
  
There was silence for a minute. "I can't help but feeling - sensing, that Louis was not an entirely bad person. What about you, Hank?"  
  
Hank sighed. "There is no bad or good, only thought makes it so. Shakespeare."  
  
"So, you actually think he was a good man?"  
  
"He was driven, Rogue. Driven by the past, angered by the present, frightened by the future. Who would not have resorted to a simpler road?"  
  
"All short roads lead to hell, I heard someone said long ago."  
  
"He wanted to fight for something, Rogue. That was a noble cause. But he fought for something that was too far in the past. Something deemed useless if not for a small pride in his mind. You see now how something this small can metastasized into a deadly trouble."  
  
"Still, I can feel he was not an entirely bad person. Even the sinners have friends."  
  
"You_ fee_l him?"  
  
"Yeah,... back when I was _one of him_ before he assimilated us - me, Piotr and Jubilee - to form a host for Penelope's soul . He was desperate, Hank. When he realized that Sinister actually killed Penelope and hid her body and made everything seemed like Remy who killed her, I guess... everything just sort of fell apart beneath him."  
  
"You can't help it if you fought for, died for and lived again for something that had been a lie."  
  
"What about us, Hank?"  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"What do we fight for?"  
  
Hank probably shrugged. "I know what I fight for, Rogue. Do you know what are you fighting for?"  
  
Remy heard her sobbed. "I just want to live like other people without making them fear me."  
  
"Then that is all you need to keep in mind the next time you're in a battle. Cone on. Jimmy had baked some cookies upstairs. Later we'll come here again, okay?"  
  
Silence descended. Remy realized a warm liquid trickled down his cheek. Nervously he touched his hand there and brought it into view.   
  
There was only tears.   
  
He smiled and whispered a prayer for Louis and Penelope. Wherever they might be.  
  


**THE END**  


_AUTHOR' NOTE__: There you go, guys! Thanks for the reviews and whatnots! This has been a very challenging story; trying not to let it out of control is a task better left to Hercules. Now I can lean back and read others' story. Aaaaah....  
_

_Translations_

_*You are a moron _

_**We are all morons_


End file.
